An Excerpt From My Book

During the days when they weren’t in school, Trevor and Alan would ride their bikes to the park, although they stopped throwing rocks at the railroad bridge control booth that sat so temptingly beneath their bluff top perch after the man that worked in it called the police. The park became their favorite place in Hartsville. It overlooked the Missouri River and offered breathtaking views of the rolling hills that bordered the ancient flood plain. Tourists drove through it to take in the beauty of the changing leaves of autumn and to get their pictures taken while pretending to jump from “Lover’s Lookout”. The boys didn’t care about any of that. They built a fort in the woods and hung out there when they didn’t want to be found. The fort was really just a clearing in the middle of a stand of pine trees that they cordoned off with garland from discarded Christmas trees and some plywood they found by the river, but to them it was as good as a castle.

“What’s the password?” Trevor’s friend Wes asked when the Manheim boys knocked on the door. Wesley Grant was twice Trevor’s size and was a good ally to have when push came to shove with a bully at school or an intruder at the fort. He took great pride in guarding their refuge and was an excellent source of supplies for it. His dad worked for the city as a garbage collector and brought home countless treasures that the boys promptly squirreled away to their hideout. Several chairs, a card table, even an old AM radio that still worked well enough to listen to ball games were saved from the scrap heap and put to good use in the fort.

“The Wizard of Oz,” Trevor replied in reference to the man they called “ the greatest shortstop who ever lived” who just happened to play for their beloved St. Louis Cardinals. To an outsider, the use of a password to verify a caller’s identity would have seemed pointless since anyone who wanted to was free to look around, over, or under the cardboard “door” in order to see in or out of the fort. But what fun would that have been?

“You may enter,” Wes said as he opened the makeshift barrier. “Did you bring anything with you today? You know it ain’t fair to make me bring everything up here.”

“We brought some sodas,” Alan proudly announced. Being the smallest and still in kindergarten, it was rare that he contributed anything more than his membership in their club.

“I found a Playboy under my parents’ bed,” Trevor boasted as he pulled the rolled up magazine from his backpack. He paused a moment to see the look on his friend’s face.

“Now that’s more like it! Gimme one of them Cokes, Alien.” That’s what Wes called Alan, who pretended to resent it, but who secretly loved the attention. It made him feel like a big boy to be a part of “The Gashouse Gang” as the group called themselves.

“There’s a whole stack of ‘em in their closet, too.” Trevor added. “If I just bring back the old ones, we can swap ‘em out for new ones. That way my dad won’t even miss ‘em.”

“It’s about time you started earning your keep around here, Tremor.” Wes started calling him that when he saw him shaking after a beating Trevor took on the playground one day. Wes broke up the fight and he and Trevor had been inseparable ever since. “You ever seen a naked lady before?” Wes asked while flipping to the centerfold.

“Besides your mom?”

“Oh, you’re dead!”

The boys spent most of their time together in Riverside Park. It was their kingdom, their safe haven, and their home away from home. It came to embody the innocence of their childhoods. All too soon, it would be lost to them for them forever.